Part 18 (1/2)

”There ought not to be, of course. But you know what the Heavy Gunners and the A.S.C. are! If you come across any of them, fire them out. If they wear too many stars and crowns for you, let me know, and I will perform the feat myself. You fellows need a good rest and no worries, I know. Good-morning.”

At ten minutes to eleven c.o.c.kerell found the Quartermaster-Sergeant and party, wiping their mustaches and visibly refreshed, at the exact spot where he had left them; and the hunt for billets began.

”A” Company were easily provided for, a derelict tobacco factory being encountered at the head of the first street. Lieutenant c.o.c.kerell accordingly detached a sergeant and a corporal from his train, and pa.s.sed on. The wants of ”B” Company were supplied by commandeering a block of four dilapidated houses farther down the street--all in comparatively good repair except the end house, whose roof had been disarranged by a sh.e.l.l during the open fighting in the early days of the war.

This exhausted the possibilities of the first street, and the party debouched into the second, which was long and straggling, and composed entirely of small houses.

”Now for a bit of the retail business!” said Master c.o.c.kerell resignedly. ”Sergeant M'Nab, what is the strength of 'C' Company?”

”One hunner and thairty-fower other ranks, sirr,” announced Sergeant M'Nab, consulting a much-thumbed roll-book.

”We shall have to put them in twos and threes all down the street,”

said c.o.c.kerell. ”Come on; the longer we look at it the less we shall like it. Interpreter!”

The forlorn little man, already described, trotted up, and saluted with open hand, French fas.h.i.+on. His name was Baptiste Bombominet (”or words to that effect,” as the Adjutant put it), and may have been so inscribed upon the regimental roll; but throughout the rank and file Baptiste was affectionately known by the generic t.i.tle of ”Alphonso.”

The previous seven years had been spent by him in the congenial and blameless atmosphere of a Ladies' Tailor's in the west end of London, where he enjoyed the status and emoluments of chief cutter. Now, called back to his native land by the voice of patriotic obligation, he found himself selected, by virtue of a residence of seven years in England, to act as official interpreter between a Scottish Regiment which could not speak English, and Flemish peasants who could not speak French. No wonder that his pathetic brown eyes always appeared full of tears. However, he followed c.o.c.kerell down the street, and meekly embarked upon a contest with the lady Inhabitants thereof, in which he was hopelessly outmatched from the start.

At the first door a dame of ma.s.sive proportions, but keen business instincts, announced her total inability to accommodate _soldats_, but explained that she would be pleased to entertain _officiers_ to any number. This is a common gambit. Twenty British privates in your _grenier_, though extraordinarily well-behaved as a cla.s.s, make a good deal of noise, buy little, and leave mud everywhere. On the other hand, two or three officers give no trouble, and can be relied upon to consume and pay for unlimited omelettes and bowls of coffee.

That seasoned vessel, Lieutenant c.o.c.kerell, turned promptly to the Sergeant and Corporal of ”C” Company.

”Sergeant M'Nab,” he said, ”you and Corporal Downie will billet here.”

He introduced hostess and guests by an expressive wave of the hand.

But shrewd Madame was not to be bluffed.

”_Pas de sergents, Monsieur le Capitaine!_” she exclaimed.

”_Officiers!_”

”_Ils sont officiers--sous-officiers_,” explained c.o.c.kerell, rather ingeniously, and moved off down the street.

At the next house the owner--a small, wizened lady of negligible physique but great staying power--entered upon a duet with Alphonso, which soon reduced that very moderate performer to breathlessness. He shrugged his shoulders feebly, and cast an appealing glance towards the Lieutenant.

”What does she say?” inquired c.o.c.kerell.

”She say dis' ouse no good, sair! She 'ave seven children, and one _malade_--seek.”

”Let me see,” commanded the practical officer.

He insinuated himself as politely as possible past his reluctant opponent, and walked down the narrow pa.s.sage into the kitchen. Here he turned, and inquired--

”Er--_ou est la pauvre pet.i.te chose?_”

Madame promptly opened a door, and displayed a little girl in bed--a very flushed and feverish little girl.

c.o.c.kerell grinned sympathetically at the patient, to that young lady's obvious gratification; and turned to the mother.

”_Je suis tres--triste_,” he said; ”_j'ai grand misericorde. Je ne placerai pas de soldats ici. Bon jour!_”

By this time he was in the street again. He saluted politely and departed, followed by the grateful regards of Madame.